Valley of the Shadows
by Kathey27
Summary: Dean has never been good with words. / Or, It sparks the night you threaten to shoot her. You hold the gun to her face, all bravado and cool and as you watch her disappear into the moonlight all you can think of is how sad her eyes had really been. Companion piece to "Vials of Ivory".


**A/N: Again, I have no idea what I'm doing but the idea of a companion one-shot came to me a few days ago and wouldn't leave me alone so…tada!**

**Anywho, as mentioned in the summary and above, this a companion piece for "Vials of Ivory" but you don't need to read that one to get this one, so, *shrug*, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned anything Dean would have kissed Ruby at the end of Jus in Bello and set of a chain of events that'd eventually lead to their wedding and eternal happiness. But he didn't, so…yeah…**

**xxxxxx**

**Valley of the Shadows:**

I.

It sparks the night you threaten to shoot her. You hold the gun to her face, all bravado and cool and as you watch her disappear into the moonlight all you can think of is how sad her eyes had really been.

II.

You thank her for saving you because although she means to come off hard and jaded, you can see the pain and darkness lying beneath it all.

III.

You listen to her whisper her secrets into the dead of the night and can only hope you'll be like her and have the strength to remember.

IV.

You highly doubt it.

V.

You avoid her gaze and stay as far away as possible because you're not all that sure you can deal with being so close to her and fucking hell, you should have known this would happen.

VI.

You become hooked on her smirk and before you're aware of it you're falling asleep to the sight of her lips and dimples invading your mind.

VII.

When you resign yourself to the fact that she's now carved into your bones all you can do is curse and drink.

VIII.

You ignore her insults at your cost because really, a part of you knows she was right, virgin sacrifice or not. She usually was.

IX.

When she comes back and catches your gaze that breath you'd been holding in for hours releases itself but then leaves just as fast because when she looks at you all she sees is 'hunter'.

X.

Despite the lies you spit at her and the admission that you don't need her help you still look for ways to save yourself when she's not around. You know if you stayed you'd get the chance to one day possibly tell her. Oh and for your baby brother too.

XI.

You fail. Obviously.

XII.

The white-eyed bitch wins and you get sent down under along with her and they torture you with images of her and _her_ torture and they snip away at your very loose, and small remaining sanity.

XIII.

In the end you break and give in and pick up the scalpel because the part of you that'd been hanging onto her bright, sad smile and scarce dimples had died a long while ago.

XIV.

When she makes it out you can't help but _scream_, **plead** for her because as much as Hell was burning away your humanity, she was the one thing it couldn't touch.

XV.

You continue to torture and maim and grin and as Alastair praises you and touches you your thoughts fall on her and the chances you'd missed and you cry for the first time since Cold Oak.

XVI.

But then you're been enveloped in a bright, scorching light and being raised and your thoughts immediately settle on her yet again.

XVII.

You fight the urge – the **need** – to ask your brother where she is because he's the righteous one, not you and he'd never go for it.

XVIII.

You start to wonder what you're missing when he starts taking calls in the middle of the night and coming back from long food runs smelling of sex.

XIX

It's all getting better and okay and your internal scars are on their way to healing and then_ she_ returns and you feel sanity and light wash over you because she's there now and she'll fix it all and make everything okay.

XX.

You slam her against walls and demand to know what she's doing and you feel disgust as you gaze at her new body because _she'd_ been the reason your brother had been smelling of sex and blood and damn it, you want her anyways.

XXI.

She doesn't notice it.

XXII.

You continue to snarl and snipe and insult even though you want to kiss and sooth and cherish.

XXIII.

You ignore the evil glares the angels give her because you need her besides you despite the fact that you _know_ what she's doing and you _know_ that it's wrong.

XXIV.

You call her all the names you know hurt and you make sure there's hatred in your eyes and you flinch at the sight of her and spit out her name because she cuts your heart open every time she so much as glances at your brother and that pain's not going away.

XXV.

She can't have you anymore.

XXVI.

You run your hands over girls who aren't her but look enough like her for it to hurt and kiss their skins and drown yourself in their scents because you know they're the only ones you'll ever be able to touch like that.

XXVII.

When you want to give in and just tell her because it's thoughts of her that chase away the nightmares and it's her smile – her newer, deeper smile – that drowns out the pulsing pain on the really bad days you think of your brother and the way _he_ looks at her and you can't.

XXVIII.

The pure disgust in her eyes when you gaze at her seals the deal.

XXIX.

You drink and curse and avoid and fuck anyone who looks like her (blonde, brunette, it doesn't matter) because you can no longer feel and yet again, for the dozenth time in your life, it's a blessing.

XXX.

You eventually stop picking up bright-eyed girls in bars.

They're nothing compared to the real thing.

XXXI.

When you come it's no longer her name at the edge of your tongue but a part of you still wishes it was.

XXXII.

You shovel down the want and the need and the love and focus on the disgust and the shame and the faint hate because she's destroying your brother and he always comes first. Always.

XXXIII.

You watch as she turns all that you have left against you and the betrayal stings hard and it rubs against the already, always pulsing wounds of her lies and despite it all…you still want her.

XXXIV.

You resist the urge to grab her and plead for her to stay and to pick light and good and to pick you, to pick _us_.

Then you remember there is no _us_.

XXXV.

When the final seal snaps open and it all starts to come undone you finally allow yourself to accept that she's too far gone to save and she'd never even been yours to save anyways.

XXXVI.

You hold her gaze as you slide her knife into her stomach and as you watch her slip away you can't help but relish the fact that you'd been the last thing she'd seen.


End file.
